


My Love as Rare

by Akaiba



Series: Courting Blunders [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian's Personal Quest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-09 14:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3253490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaiba/pseuds/Akaiba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Dorian's turn to mess it up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dorian makes noise. Cullen is used to this.

Dorian is eloquent and well equipped to talk circles around anyone on most every subject matter and his chatter never pauses for long. He mumbles to himself, argues with inanimate objects, has whole conversations with mimicked voices whether anyone is listening or not. 

From the moment Dorian nearly stormed the front gate at Haven, Cullen has become accustomed to his endless noise. A shrill, indignant declaration, a low, bitter complaint, a liltling, coy tease and muffled laughter. Even the sultry flirting that still turns Cullen's ears pink he is used to. 

It is the silence that alarms him. 

Dorian doesn't even play chess silently, so when the Inquisitor returns and Cullen doesn't hear of it from Dorian's bemoaning the cold and the walking, he is concerned. 

Their courting aside, Cullen would count Dorian as a friend... but the man is difficult to get close to. He treats people warily, a smoke screen of ease and calm that belies the distance he is holding everyone at. Cullen is well aware the flirting and teasing he gets is used because Dorian has found it a tactic to fluster him and chase him off. Dorian accepted his courting, trite and traditional as he appeared to find it, but Cullen was under no illusions Dorian's walls weren't still very much up. At moments like these, however, it is difficult to know if his presence and comfort would be welcome. Dorian is so determinedly solitary while carrying the illusion of easy friendships that Cullen wants to go to him but knows Dorian would be angry for it. He sees as much when a frustrated inquisitor leaves the library with a frown on her soft face. Dorian's words can be cutting, Cullen knows. 

Solas seems to be enjoying the quiet when Cullen passes by his room, taking advantage of the fact that books are unlikely to come flying over the balcony this day as he paints.

Cullen's really come to hate the quiet, at least the pensive and weighted quiet like this. 

"Dorian?" The man lacks a door for his claimed alcove so Cullen instead calls his name softly. It does not escape his notice that everyone in the library is giving Dorian's alcove a wide berth and they do not linger. 

"Something you need, Commander?" Comes the clipped response and Dorian doesn't turn from the window he is no doubt scowling at. 

"Cullen." Cullen corrects. He hasn't needed to correct that for a while, but he doesn't linger on it. "I had hoped to talk, or a game if you have the time?" He hopes by giving Dorian the offer of an ear if he needs it or a distraction if he'd prefer would be at least a gesture that Cullen is here if Dorian needs him. 

"I haven't the mind for a game, Commander, and I really don't want to talk." Dorian bites out.

"Very well. I shall leave you to your thoughts." Cullen inclines his head, but Dorian can't see it. "Its 'Cullen'." He adds as he turns to leave.

"Cullen, Commander, what does it matter?!" Dorian snapped, still not facing him.

Cullen frowned. "We are courting. It matters. If you have changed your mind..." He trails off uncertainly and Dorian half turns his head then to scoff.

"Courting. How fereldan." He sneers. "All your backwards ways and rough-living but you're so damn calm about two men being together- like it's fine, like it isn't unseemly at all!" Dorian sounds unlike himself and Cullen is stunned. "Go away, Commander, just leave me be!"

Cullen stiffens, an odd sort of coldness sitting in his gut as he wonders if this is Dorian rejecting him. "I see." He manages to say softly. "My apologies."

Cullen inclines his head and still Dorian doesn't see. He leaves and Dorian does not stop him, each step heavier than the last as he passes ignored through Solas' room to the walkway back to his office. 

When the door closes behind him and he is alone, he lets his breath shudder out like it wants to. His hands tremble and he clenches them tight. He knew there was always a chance this would happen, much as he might have liked to hope it wouldn't. He had thought he would have done something wrong to earn it, not that Dorian would be in a bad mood and simply... dismiss him. No, maybe... maybe Dorian was just angry. Perhaps it was just... but he said two men together was unseemly.

It hurts; wounded pride, spurned feelings... the cold tone of a friend. Cullen rubs a hand over his face and tells himself to grow up. Courting isn't a relationship and there's work to be done. 

After the fifth time reading the same paragraph and making no sense of it, the sting of hurt not lessening, Cullen gives up. He crawls into his bed and he tells himself and his guilt that its okay he takes just one night for himself. That sleep doesn't come for a long while and he simply hides under the blankets is still allowed, he needs to... just hide for a while.

However, the Inquisition would not allow for that. He tries desperately to ignore the knocking and the timid calls for him from below. He tries harder to still the rash anger on his tongue as he shouts back. It isn't these poor runners' fault that-... Cullen looks at the already piling reports and tells himself his pity party is over. There's work to do. 

The hour or so he had managed to hide away hasn't sharpened his concerntration however, the words difficult to parse when he's so... he doesn't know what he is. Won't let himself examine it long enough to even guess.

But the work is an easier escape than trying to sleep, scrawling orders and instructions for his men, signing reports and forwarding the useful things to Lavellan, Leliana and Josephine. He works until the candle on his desk is sputtering low and the light flickers, until he can barely tell when he needs to dip his quill for all he cares the ink is dry. He works until he's hunched over his desk and the moment he passes out he barely moves at all, head touching the desk with a soft thud and candle spitting out with a huff.

He does not think of Dorian, does not think of his curt dismissal or the mocking tone. Cullen instead dreams of nothing, the restless bite of half-awake, half-asleep that does not grant true rest. 

He stirs when he hears a thud and soft cursing in tevene, brow furrowing and protesting the waking world; his back aches, his face hurts, he's pretty sure he's drooling on a very important report and more importantly while he's unconscious he isn't thinking about-

"Dorian?" He says softly as he sits up, rubbing at his face and blinking blearily at the tangle of blankets and furious limbs at the foot of his ladder.

A head pokes out of the blankets and Dorian frowns at him. "You were supposed to be asleep."

Cullen ignores that. "What are you doing?"

"Really I thought it would be obvious, I just so loved the draught down here so I decided to sleep right here." Dorian bites out with his usual sarcasm, but there's a slur to his words and Cullen knows without asking that the man is drunk. The mage manages to untangle himself from the blanket and stands, looking at the blanket in distaste. Its from Cullen's bed, he notes. "Well if you're awake, I suppose this won't be needed." 

"You..." Cullen is rubbing his tired eyes in an effort to force concentration into his mind. "... got me a blanket?" These past few weeks of shyly exchanged gifts and flirting, it's been... nice. But Dorian was so hatefully angry about it this afternoon that Cullen can't be sure what to do now.

Dorian draws up taller and Cullen wonders if he knows how open he is when he's had too much to drink. All of his tells are obvious and his masks are muted. It's like seeing what Dorian might be like if Cullen and he were closer and Dorian trusted him more. "Yes, well, if you do insist in sleeping at your desk- nicely done by the way, perfect addition to the noble image you have going on- then I try and do a noble gesture of my own and fall down half of your Maker-forsaken ladder!"

Cullen sifts through the rant slowly, tired brain sorting out the useful parts, dismissing the questions he knew Dorian would use to talk circles around him, and finally settling on the relevant question of, "Why did you come to my office? Drunk, I might add." 

Dorian scowls at him again, Cullen wondering idly if thats the only look he is to be greeted with from now on, and fusses with the blankets he's holding like a wall between them. "I can go wherever I like, Commander. I'm free like that."

Cullen's heart can only take so much and he forces his tired bones to stand, hands pressed to the table and irritation mixing with his fatigue into an exasperated sigh. "That you can. If that will be all, however, I have work to-"

"I wanted to see you." It comes out in a slurred mumble, Dorian's eyes surprisingly open and vulnerable as he looks so earnestly at Cullen. 

"You saw me already today." Cullen reminds him, crossing his arms and keeping his tone tight lest the hurt seep in. "You made your feelings clear. You don't need to clarify." 

"No!" Dorian blurts, hands fisting the blankets in his arms nervously. "No, I didn't! I didn't." He shakes his head and Cullen sighs.

"Dorian... look. You've had a bit too much to drink. Perhaps you should just go to bed." He says softly, stepping around the desk to urge Dorian to the door. Cullen's never had much in the way of pride, not in this sense. He still cares greatly for Dorian and seeing him drunk and confused isn't helping his need to comfort Dorian.

"No! Cullen! Listen to me!" Dorian drops the blankets he's holding and tries to rush towards Cullen. He only succeeds in tripping over the blankets he had dropped and landing in Cullen's arms as the blonde tried to catch him. "Maker, no, I didn't mean what I said! It was unworthy of me- my father, he-! Cullen, the entire of Skyhold knows bits of what happened at Redcliffe but you don't do you?! You didn't even ask the Inquisitor!" There's no tease, no witty flirt for how chivalrously Cullen caught him. That if anything makes Cullen see how distressed Dorian is. 

Cullen tries to lift Dorian up but the man seems to have given up on vertical altogether, dragging Cullen to the floor so he can pin Cullen, back to his desk, with Dorian clambering into his lap and forcing their gazes to lock.

"Dorian, this isnt... we shouldn't... talk about this. Not while you're drunk." Cullen flushed hard as the mage practically squirmed in his lap to get comfortable, all the while insisting eye contact so Cullen would know he spoke the truth. 

"I needed to get drunk after the day I've had." Dorian's breath tickled Cullen's face, the bitter tang of sour wine and heat- Cullen could almost taste it and it wasn't helping his stammering or blushing. "Cullen, please... I was angry and hurt, he made me hate myself all ove again! I felt wrong! I didn't think I could do this- I want to, so badly!" He was almost whining as he petulantly added, "They were his words, not mine. I shouldn't have ever..."

Dorian's voice broke and Cullen shushed him, hands coming up to hold the mage- one around his back, another cupping his cheek as Dorian sniffled miserably. "Shush, Dorian, it's okay." It isn't. Cullen knows they need to talk, but not like this. Not drunk and tired and miserable. "I promise it's okay." Dorian's broken the dam now, tears trickling down his face and there's so much hurt there that Cullen knows he isn't meant to see. "Come on..."

Dorian shuffles as directed and it's little effort to arrange the blankets under the desk. Cullen winds up with Dorian's back to his chest, curled under the desk, tangled in a makeshift nest of blankets and Cullen's cloak.

Cullen hadn't intended to stay with Dorian but the man clung to him viciously tight and Cullen, while doubting it was for the best, obliged. He thought it was selfish, the way he caved to Dorian's urging. The man was drunk, likely to wake embarrassed, make excuses and leave Cullen aching with an even deeper hurt. Alcohol loosened tongues but it confused things as well, Cullen forced himself not to read into Dorian's regret which could easily be read as simply regret for how they had parted. He's still no better informed if Dorian wants to call off their courting altogether or if he's just lashing out in hurt.

Their breaths were slow and even, the only sound bar the wind rattling the doors and Cullen thought Dorian asleep but for the hand that pressed to his chest suddenly.

"Cullen, I-" Dorian shifts around to face Cullen.

"Hush." Cullen soothes. "In the morning. Alright?"

Dorian huffed against Cullen's neck, only their tunics between them now. "Alright." He agrees, the tang of wine still colouring his breath and Cullen tightens his hold. He wants to delay what might be a bitter goodbye tomorrow, would rather have this for one night- a memory of a half forgotten drunken nap that he'll torment himself with later.

He's always been a bit of a masochist.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after and Dorian isn't any good at this.

Dorian wakes with a pounding headache. He hates the entire world for doing this to him even as he knows he only has himself to blame. His mouth tastes like something died in it and he burrows tighter into the blankets.

Except Dorian doesn't have blankets. 

His eyes snap open and he's forever grateful for whatever shadowy hole he's crawled into because the sunlight is a distant threat blocked from view. He is instantly aware, however, of the broad, warm body he is pressed against. 

It's Cullen. Of course it is, Dorian thinks, who else would he drunkenly and brokenly go running to for comfort but the poor man he snapped at. Cullen didn't need that sort of dramatic moodiness but then what did he expect; Dorian was exactly dramatic moodiness.

The little nest they've made is warm and Dorian doesn't want to leave it, not yet, even if he can feel shame pricking his cheeks. He remembers enough of his desperate storming of Cullen's office, enough that he debates just fleeing now while Cullen sleeps. Except the Commander isn't asleep. He probably hasn't been for some time, he rises before the dawn with his nightmares and Dorian has usually missed the show of Cullen training until he can scarce lift the sword by the time he emerges from sleep. 

Cullen is feigning sleep- poorly, Dorian might add, no man sleeps that stiffly or breathes that out of rhythm- he is feigning sleep so that Dorian might choose to leave if he wishes. Dorian doubts Cullen would stop him. Let him slink out with what remains of his dignity and... and what? 

They never speak of this again?

It's not like either of them are invested in a relationship at this point. Just some pleasantly innocent dates, some thoughtful gifts and a bit of flirting. Nothing they couldn't walk away from. 

Dorian's tired and embarrassed enough that the idea of just walking away and never speaking of this again is pretty appealing. Did he really cry on Cullen? He groans and presses his head into the fur of Cullen's cloak which was apparently their pillow for the evening. 

"... a - are you alright?" Cullen's voice is rough with sleep and apparently the idea that Dorian might need help overtakes the offer to never speak of this again. Chivalry is apparently not dead, Dorian thinks wryly. 

"The delightful after party of a hangover, nothing to worry about." Dorian grumbles. 

Cullen hums thoughtfully, hand tentatively rubbing Dorian's back where it seems Cullen had held him all night. Now the man doesn't seem to know if should take back his limb or not. 

Cullen is so... Fereldan. The stereotypical chantry boy with noble goals and ideals. He thinks white is white because it is and he doesn't understand politics but give him a battlefield and he'll hand you a victory. He's chivalrous and kind, gruff in the way only soldiers are, and he will want to talk about this. Not just now; there'll always be something emotional and feeling and Cullen will want to talk.

Again, he is being unworthy. Cullen cares and that's... nice. New.

Dorian wonders if he's going to be unworthy a lot in this. 

Dorian looks up and whatever apology he has dies as he sees Cullen. The man is squinting at him, like the very effort of opening his eyes hurts, he trembles a little intermittently and he's blinking too fast and for too long. 

He's exhausted.

"Oh, Cullen... did I keep you up all night? And not nearly in the fun way." He huffs.

Cullen blinks and frowns, "No, no... it's fine. I don't really... sleep." 

Dorian tsks at him. "I'm sure even the mighty Commander would have fallen by now if he didn't sleep." He can't resist reaching out to gently brush the hint of chest he can see from the collar of Cullen's shirt. As if trying to comfort himself or affirm that Cullen is really there, because he isn't sure anyone else would have put up with him. "Is it because of me?"

Cullen shifts and looks away in discomfort. "In a sense, but not how I think you mean." Cullen's hand slides to more comfortably wrap around his waist and Dorian knows Cullen hasn't noticed the easy motion because he doesn't even flush a little. "I get nightmares. A lot. Every night. I didn't... i didn't want to disturb you."

Dorian looks up in shock. "So you stayed awake the whole night?!"

Cullen gives a half-shrug. "I am a soldier, Dorian, it's hardly the first time."

"You wreckless, idiotic- Cullen, you're the Inquisition's Commander! You have to be as on top form as you can be!" Dorian clutches his temples, his hangover protesting the raised voice. "You should have kicked me out and left me to it." He mutters.

Cullen frowns at him again, "I wouldn't leave you like that." He is so serious and so fierce even with his soft, sleepy voice and Dorian aches with it. 

This isn't light hearted fun, Dorian thinks suddenly. He isn't sure Cullen is capable of such a thing. This is serious and Cullen will let him go whenever Dorian gives the word- indeed, Cullen hasn't so much 'caught' him as is slowly coaxing Dorian into staying with him. They've only courted for a few weeks but already Dorian is...

Scared. If he is honest. 

He'd pushed it all down and refused to seriously consider a relationship with Cullen- trading coded messages in flowers was hardly undying love. But with his father shoving his nose in once again... Dorian is considering this. Very hard. And he's absolutely terrified. 

Cullen looks calm. A soldier's grim acceptance that whatever happens will happen and he won't push. Dorian almost wants him to push. Maybe it'd be easier to get the words out if they were dragged out of him.

He sits up, bangs his head on the underside of the desk, flops back down with a pained cry and curls in on himself with a pitiful whine. 

Cullen laughs.

His hand holds him soothingly, rubbing his lower back in comfort, but he's laughing and Dorian wants to be annoyed but after yesterday, Cullen's laughter is a welcome relief. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't... are you alright?" Cullen sniggers. 

"M'fine." Dorian says softly, Cullen's hand moving up to check his head carefully for serious injury. Dorian catches his hand and holds it tight. "You should... go to bed. In your bed." 

Cullen looks at him for a moment and Dorian thinks he's going to ask him; all the hard questions he's avoiding and refusing to face just yet. But he doesn't. He sees Dorian's avoidance and stands by it. 

Dorian wants to be point out Cullen is owed a few answers for the drunken raid on his office but it's so noble and kind Cullen's acceptance just makes him feel worse. He pretends he doesn't feel Cullen's gaze following him as he scrambles inelegantly out from under the desk, smooths down his crinkled front and disarrayed belts. He all but runs from the room, a pithy comment that he'll see the Commander for chess soon. Dorian pretends he doesn't hear the soft 'It's Cullen' before the door shuts behind him.

It isn't a run, he insists. Its a brisk pace to avoid the ungodly cold down here in the south. That he keeps that pace through Skyhold's throne room and up the many staircases until he is barging into Lavellan's room is more to do with timely arrival. 

All pretence is dropped however when a mess of red hair, squinting eyes and pointy ears poke out from her bundle of blankets at him. He crumples, strides over to her bed and collapses on her legs. His stomach heaves but there's nothing in there to come up so he just groans and curls inwards. 

She peels back a corner of the blankets. "Boots off and get in." She grumbles. Dorian suspects he's not the only one nursing a hangover if the state he left her in at the tavern last night is anything to go by. Dorian obeys and in seconds he's telling her everything that happened. She's the only one that knows the full truth of what happened with his father, the only one who he can lean on right now. 

"You messed up, Dorian." She offers sleepily, burrowed into her pillow as though Dorian's mess doesn't bother her at all. He pinches her arm. "Hey! Why?!" She demands.

"Well I was rather hoping you'd tell me how to fix this!" 

"Elvish courting is far more straightforward than whatever you and Cullen have going on. And now that you sort of spat all over it and have him confused as heck, I don't have a clue what flower message or engraved ring will fix it." She snaps.

"You're grumpy, unhelpful and delightfully acidic this morning."

"I am the Inquisitor and I will have all your clothes burned. I will make it a public event."

"You wouldn't..."

"Just talk to him! And get out of my bed you mopey, whiny man." She makes to kick him but he winds himself around her middle and firmly stays where he is.

It take a while, but he coaxes her around to helping and Dorian starts to wonder about Cullen accepting his apology, if they talk... if they continue and grow closer... Dorian starts to wonder about an actual relationship with Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> akaiba.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian makes amends.

Cullen does not see Dorian for three weeks after that. He isn't sure he could call it avoidance either, not with Lavellan spiriting him away on another mission he knows requires their attention. He saw a glimpse of Dorian across the courtyard, dark eyes meeting his for only a moment before he tugged his collar up and rode out. Cullen knows this, he doesn't need it spelling out but...

He'd still have expected Dorian to simply say how he felt. But then emotions are sticky and messy and maybe he's more comfortabl with pretending this all just never happened. They're awkward around each other for a while and then they get over it. Well, Cullen gets over it. 

It doesn't help that the entire keep was aware of their courting and now is more than aware that the budding lovebirds are avoiding each other- rather Dorian hurries away from Cullen like he has the plague- and with Dorian gone, Cullen is getting all sorts of sympathetic friends popping by. He hates it. 

The man Cullen curled up under his desk with was a wreck; crying and fragile in a way Dorian just isn't. There's been enough pieces of information gleaned over their friendship to make sense of Dorian's drunk rambling as well. Enough to know that Dorian had met with his father, with whom he has a very strained relationship, and it had not gone well. The anger Dorian had lashed out with first had been understandable when he worked that out. It still stung and he still wanted to talk but Dorian very obviously didn't so Cullen let it slide. He didnt want to push and instead was watching as Dorian walked away entirely, in every sense. 

Cullen had almost called out to Dorian, wanting to say goodbye and at least exchange words, but a soft voice had spoken up instead. "Wants so desperately to go to him, wants to say sorry, miss his laughter, miss his warmth- always so warm. Needs to know, I have to tell him-"

Dorian had started as if electrocuted and spluttered, "That's quite enough of that, Cole! What have I told you about that?!"

Cullen is flushed scarlet as Dorian hurried away, following the Inquisitor's retreating back, and the idea that Cole might have been sharing Dorian's thoughts only occurs to him much later. He dismisses it as wishful thinking, knows those thoughts were in his mind and accepts that Dorian being privy to them only drove him away faster. As if he needed the encouragement. 

Three weeks pass Cullen at a crawling pace, filled with reports and training and avoiding nosey, well-meaning friends. He tells himself he's nursing a wounded ego and nothing more, that's why he doesn't want comfort. If he's honest, however, Dorian's absence just highlights further how much of his relaxation time was spent with Dorian.

Cassandra is a good sparring partner but she hasn't the patience for chess, and Cullen had few friends that he chose to spend time with like that. Sera was out instantly, she'd raise his stress level if anything, Solas was far too stiff and Cullen was well aware that the assessment coming from him carried irony. He wished Dorian had been there to laugh about it. Iron Bull was good for an alternativr sparring partner and drinking, neither Cullen wanted to do to relax. Vivienne was someone Cullen avoided as much as possible, Leliana and Josephine as busy as he was and they saw far too much of each other as it was. Varric liked to tease him and was a good listener but Cullen didn't want to spill his troubles right now. Lavellan was out with Dorian and she'd taken Cole and Blackwall with them. 

No. Cullen wanted companionship. The likemind he saw in Dorian from such a different perspective. Loud, where Cullen was quiet, witty where he stammered and both as sharp as each other. 

Cullen misses him. By the end of the third week, he can admit that.

Even when Dorian returned though, Cullen knew things would still be awkward and Dorian would be avoiding him still. Cullen would miss him, only now from across rooms. 

He is a mooning maiden and he knows it.

Cullen is hard at work when he hears the commotion from the courtyard signalling the Inquisitor's return. His stomach clenches nervously and he's halfway to the door when he remembers how Dorian had been staying away from him. He hunches his shoulders and trudges back to his chair, willing this stupid heartache to leave him.

His face is still buried in his hands when the music starts. 

It's close. Very close. Right outside the left side door sort of close. Cullen's eyes narrow as he realises he knows this tune. It's a Fereldan love song. Cullen learned it from his mother when he was very young, she used to hum it when he couldn't sleep. He learned every word and committed them to memory, kept them close to his heart when he was far from home and needed comfort. 

There was someone stood outside one of his doors playing his mother's song. On a lute, if he's not mistaken. 

Curiosity niggles at Cullen but he is slow to approach the door. He listens to the song and steps towards the door as one might approach a sleeping bear. He takes the handle and opens the door. 

Dorian is standing outside. Holding a lute.

Playing said lute. Playing it well, Cullen notes absently. 

Dorian's eyes widen at seeing him but Cullen watches his jaw clench in determination and the song does not falter. Cullen watches him curiously, remembering all the times he's hummed this under his breath to himself, wondering how Dorian learned this song- this has Leliana's skilled musical talents all over it but the idea of Dorian humming the tune to her so she can teach it to him is... touching. Cullen hadn't even known Dorian had paid attention to his humming but he had to have. Cullen only hums or sings this song when he's alone or... when he's with Dorian and they're having a comfortable silence. 

They maintain eye contact for a while and Cullen can see, perhaps for the first time, Dorian start to lose his nerve. 

It's slow. First he strums the wrong note and then his hand shakes, strumming three wrong notes and his gaze drops sharply. Dorian doesn't blush, Cullen doesnt think the man capable of shame, but he looks as nervous as Cullen has ever seen and Dorian gives up on the lute entirely. He clutches it between them much like he had the blankets so many weeks ago, as though he needs the illusion of a barrier between them as he works to lower other ones. 

"I, uh... um. Leliana. She... she helped me learn it." Dorian says to the stone by their feet. "I... I practiced while we were away. It's not perfect, I know, but I'm a little rusty. I haven't had much cause to practice since leaving Tevinter." The silence drags and Dorian flinches before glancing up and he pauses. Cullen is smiling. "Oh." He says, like its the last thing he expected. 

"I haven't heard anyone play that song for many years." Cullen is still smiling. "And you're serenading me with it."

Dorian twists his hands around the neck of the lute before forcibly stilling his fidgeting. "Yes, well... I rather screwed up, didn't I?"

"Not irreparably." Cullen ducks his head with a shake and gestures for Dorian to come in. "Welcome back. Would you like a drink?"

Dorian's shoulders sag in relief and he steps into Cullen's office. "Its good to be home." That he means it, that this is home, only scares him a little. The fear has turned to excitement and Dorian will play all the sappy Fereldan love ballads Cullen likes if he can actually have this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> akaiba.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Akaiba.tumblr.com


End file.
